


Pickles, Kisses And Freaking Out.

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: He's Just Like His Daddy [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arguing, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Original Character(s), Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:37:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" “I may have freaked out.” In habit, Ian's hands wrap around Mickey's bump, stroking against the softened skin.<br/>"Just a bit.” Mickey huffs out, yawning into the back of his hand.  "</p><p>After Mickey and Ian had a argument over pickles. (Two Months before Owen's birth)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pickles, Kisses And Freaking Out.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been meaning to post this! People asked me to add to the Owen series so here is one about before his birth, I will most likely swap and change through the time!

It had been a good hour since Ian burst in the middle of the living room. Mickey had been eating pickles and cheese when he muttered a couple of words to Ian and the redhead split into uncontrollable anger. Mickey was convinced it was over the pickles. At first Mickey laughed it off, it was funny watching the younger boy get frustrated when Mickey wound him up, but things then got a little serious.

Mickey had pulled the _I didn't want this baby in the first place_ card and Ian couldn't stop himself from freaking the fuck out. The redhead had rampaged around the front room, flipping the coffee table over, chucking plates against the walls, he had _even_ ripped a little chunk of hair out of the side of his head. Mickey had noticed his heat-of-the-moment regret and tried to solve things but Ian just wasn't listening, he had listed off reasons why their baby would be perfect for their life and then stormed into the little study at the end of the hall.

The apartment had been silent after that, apart from Mickey crunching against the pickles infront of the low-key television. His hands absently rubbed against his bump, his eyes protectively glancing down towards it and then back to the door of the study. He was eight months in; he could hardly walk for the ankles just killed him, his cravings for weird foods were getting worse, and he had been tweaking and crying like a bitch for the past two weeks. Fucking hormones. 

Then he felt the familiar kick against his stomach, it was slightly painful to start with but Mickey loved the feel, he loved the fact that his child was already connecting to him. Ian always loved sitting behind him, resting his hands against his bump, rubbing against the skin until the baby calmed and went to sleep. All Mickey needed right now was Ian's warm hands.

He might regret leaving his pickles uneaten, but he regrets leaving Ian to his own thoughts more. Mickey struggles to push himself off the couch, the heave of his bump sinking him down towards the floor. Gripping onto the side of the chair, he was able to keep a steady stance and remain standing. Walking seemed like a fucking gift now he was pregnant with a kid. He holds tight onto his stomach, dodging the broken glass shattered against the floor. Once he's reached the study door, he takes a breath – both from walking and being too fucking pussy to actually go talk to Ian.

Mickey takes the risk of a flying glass and opens the study door. He expects a booming voice, a flying object, maybe even the door to slam right back in his face, but all he hears is a distant snore and the rumble of the fan in the corner. Rubbing a hand against his sweaty forehead, he pushes the door open further, his eyes latching onto the figure in the dark,

“Ian?” Mickey whispers, stepping closer, flicking the lamp on that rested at the corner of the desk. There was no answer, so he proceeds to walk into the room. Ian's head is resting in his crossed arms, ontop of the desk top. His red hair is sprawled all over the place, drool down the side of his arm. Mickey feels his heart constrict, the values strengthening and pulling simultaneously. “Fucking dork.” He mutters to himself, rounding the desk with a hand firm on his bump.

Gently, he pushes the chair away from the desk, his hands latching onto Ian's arms resting onto the desk. With soft hands he lifts Ian's chin up, feeling the redhead stir under his touch. He doesn't wake and it takes Mickey a while to adjust him to a position he could lift him up from. Ian is leaning back against the desk chair, head lolling to the side before he suddenly snorts awake. “Mickey?” he rubs at his eyes. “You still up?”

“Yeah, its me, sleepy head.” Mickey smiles, sleepily, he goes to reach for Ian, who tiredly pulls himself up. “I'm, er, sorry about what I said before. I didn't fucking mean it.” Mickey admits, looking towards the floor – which was hard to see now his bump was in the way – he feels Ian's hand wrap around his wrist, fingers curling around the thin bone.

“I know.” Ian speaks softly, pulling Mickey closer to his body, gently placing a kiss to his lips. “I may have freaked out.” In habit, Ian's hands wrap around Mickey's bump, stroking against the softened skin, he leans down and kisses it, humming at the feel of Mickey's fingers threading through his hair.

“Just a bit.” Mickey huffs out, yawning into the back of his hand.

Ian steps up, kissing at Mickey's forehead as he pushes the sweaty hair out of Mickey's face. “Come on, you're fucking shattered, lets go to bed.” He leans into Mickey's side, hand looping around Mickey's waist, he slowly walks them both out of the room and back into the hall-way. Ian sees the mess he's made, wincing at the fact its worse than he thought it had been. “Shit, I'm fucking sorry. Didn't-”

“Don't worry about it, Gallagher, we can buy new fucking cups.” Mickey assures him, sloppily opening the bedroom door and pulling Ian in with him. Ian strips from his clothes, helping Mickey with his – despite the protests of the older boy and his sense of _masculinity._ Mickey lies back onto the bed, struggling to try pull the cover over himself. Ian dips in the bed beside him, his hand finding itself to Mickey's bump protectively.

As silence drew over, Ian asked. “Did you mean what you said about...not wanting the baby?” He leans up on his elbows, eyes already glazing over. Mickey flutters his eyes open, instantly feeling guilty for what he had said earlier. “No, I-”

“Because I know that we didn't plan any of this, and that its a shit situation to bring a baby into but its _ours,_ you know. I just-” Ian rambles on, not letting Mickey get a word in edgeways.

“Jesus, Ian. Of course I want the baby.” Mickey shouts in a whisper. “I know its shit timing, and yeah maybe we didn't know it was coming, but – this little guy.” He pulls the cover down, revealing his glowing bump. “Is not giving up easy, he kicks like a bitch, but I can already fucking tell he's ours. I ain't getting rid of that.” For the first time in the whole pregnancy he had actually admitted his feelings.

Ian starts beaming, his smile uncontrollable. “He?”

“I-” Mickey stutters, he hadn't anticipated in telling Ian this till the day of the birth. “Fuck it. I went to the doctor last week, after the scan, and I found out what the sex of the baby was.” He squeezed his eyes shut, ready for Ian's bad reaction, but all he got was a gasp and an intrigued nod. “And-d, and I didn't want to tell you until it happened, but they told me we were, well, we're having a boy.”

Ian can only just process Mickey's rabble, trying to catch each word that flew out of his mouth. His hand palms the top of Mickey's belly, the other playing with Mickey's hair. “A boy?” He gasps, a tear stripping down the skin of his cheek. “Fuck. A _son._ ”

Mickey nods, laughing a little, he tucks his tongue into the side of his cheek. “I don't even think I need to teach the kid how to fight, he's fucking kicking me to death.”

“Here, let me.” Ian ushers over, his hands rubbing against the skin of the bump. Mickey groans and rolls his head over to Ian's chest. He leans into the touch, his eyes slowly drooping closed. “I can't wait.” Ian whispers as he kisses the smooth skin of Mickey's stomach.

Sleepily, Mickey runs a hand over the back of Ian's neck. “Tell me about it.”


End file.
